


Mine Acquaintance into Darkness

by Daegaer



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 18th Century, 19th Century, Angst, Anthropomorphic Personifications, Brothers, History, International Relations, M/M, bereavement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-30
Updated: 2009-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-05 12:13:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bereaved and captive, Lithuania is trapped in Russia's house.</p><p>Psalm 88:18 <i> Lover and friend hast thou put far from me, and mine acquaintance into darkness.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Mine Acquaintance into Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Set during the final years of the 18th century and the first decade of the 19th. Thank you to Puddingcat for beta-reading! Historical notes are at the end. Written for Springkink, using the following prompt: _Russia/Lithuania - Russia making it dubcon, but Lithuania is the top sexually - If I had you here I'd clip your wings, snap you up and leave you sprawling on my pin_.

Lithuania kept his chin raised and looked Russia right in the eye as his new owner walked round him, looking him up and down like he was a piece of meat. Or, Lithuania thought bitterly, like he was deciding exactly how to divide up his new territories.

"You are educated?" Russia said, his tone of voice indicating he wasn't expecting much.

"Of course I'm educated," Lithuania said. "The Commonwealth is the leading light of civilisation in eastern Europe."

"How odd," Russia said, "You are using the present tense. When you have managed to overcome that speech impediment you might make a good secretary. For now, you can join the kitchen staff."

He just had to regroup, Lithuania thought, wait for Poland to get his act together, and this would be over.

"I don't think so," he said. "That sort of thing is what your sister is good for. Of course, she's mainly used to cooking Polish and Lithuanian food in _my_ kitchens for the last four hundred years. You don't mind that, do you?"

Russia put a large and heavy hand on his shoulder. "I don't like that attitude. Let me show you a picture, it will make things easier for us both to understand, yes?" He dragged Lithuania over to the table and picked up one of the maps lying rolled on its surface. "This is so artistic," he said, and unrolled it with a flick of his wrist. It smoothly flattened itself out, floating down to land on the table. Every line was crisp and clear, the work of a master cartographer.

Lithuania looked down at it, trying to make sense of what he saw. He could see his own territories, now lying behind Russia's borders. Lines separated him from Belarus, from the lands he had taken from Ukraine. But – he shook his head. Russia's, Austria's and Prussia's borders all met, neatly. Try as he might, he could not make Poland's territories come clear in his gaze. He looked closer and felt a sense of unease. There were no Polish words at all on the map, the towns and rivers renamed in German and Russian. He looked up sharply at Russia.

"Is he in your house?" he asked. "Or with Prussia or Austria?"

"Ah," Russia said with deep, false sorrow, "I offered, truly I did – I said, _Let me take this little annoyance off your hands, I'll keep him busy_, but they would have none of it. We couldn't decide who got him – do you know, Prussia said I was greedy for already having taken you! – So, we cut him up. I suppose he was very glad when he finally died – we argued a lot about who could take what. Prussia felt very hard done by, complaining that I had taken the lion's share and should give him some pieces of you as well. That hardly seemed fair, I mean I beat you all by myself, and now I should keep you safe, shouldn't I? You're so much better off with me – Prussia treated your friend so very badly." His cheerful smile didn't waver as he said, "There is a sword on the wall behind you, Lithuania. You look as if you want to have a sword, right now."

Lithuania took a step back and risked a look. There was a sword. He had never wanted so much to strike an unarmed man – but if he did, he thought, what would happen to his people? Russia was healthy and strong, and had conquered him. He very much doubted he could do enough damage by himself to win his freedom. The first raw flush of fury died down leaving him sick and desperate to cry. He forced his mind away from the memory of Poland's face to try to keep the tears away for just a little longer.

"Go to the kitchens," Russia said, sounding contemptuously disappointed. He walked out of the room, still smiling.

After some minutes of silent misery, Lithuania did as he'd been told, and searched till he found the kitchens. It was at least honest work, he thought, and the master of the house was unlikely to come there too often.

* * *

 

The first couple of years went by in a blur. Lithuania refused to pay attention to the doings of the world, and found he could quite easily think of nothing but cooking and cleaning. Estonia looked at him oddly sometimes, and tried to talk about Poland, but Lithuania always managed to cut him off. If he didn't talk about Poland and didn't think about him, it was almost as if he didn't have to remember he was dead. Lithuania kept his hands in the sink, scrubbing pots to a brilliant shine, filling his mind with simple, repetitive tasks, and turning away from anyone who tried to make him pay attention.

"Lithuania," Estonia said, one night when he and his brothers were safe in the room they shared, "Why won't you talk to me?" He shook Lithuania's shoulder to make sure he wasn't asleep. "Leedu? Are you listening?"

"I talk to you," Lithuania said. He stretched one leg wearily; it had been a long day and all he wanted was to sleep. It was a pity he didn't have a bed to himself. A room to himself would be too much to ask for, but surely three beds could have been squeezed in? Then he wouldn't have to deal with a chatty brother at such close quarters. "We spent hours working out the menu for Russia's state dinner just this morning."

"You're not yourself! You just – sort of go along like you're in a dream. You were _never_ like this before. _Wake up_, before Russia decides to wake you himself. Lithuania, I know you hate thinking about him, but do you really think Poland would want you to act like this?"

"I'm tired, Eesti," Lithuania said, and turned over. There was a moment's blessed silence.

"You could think about me and Latvia," Estonia hissed behind him. "_Oh, there's Lithuania, martyring himself because his partner died. Defying Russia out of sentiment. And there are his brothers he's dragging down with him._ Latvia's always frozen and exhausted from working outdoors, and the guard dogs bit him last week. Did you even notice? And what about me? I'm tired of helping you as well as shovelling shit in the stables and dodging Russia's mean tempered war horses."

Lithuania put his pillow over his ears. Estonia pulled it away.

"You always were a stubborn bastard. You just like being tragic – honestly, if you'd ever actually cared about Poland you'd at least have prayed for his soul now and then."

He made a very satisfying squawk as Lithuania rolled over quickly and hit him but then looked determined and irritated and started hitting back. It took only a few seconds before Latvia woke up and shrieked with fright, of course, but both Lithuania and Estonia had got in a few good blows by then. Lithuania decided he'd had enough. Damn his brothers, he thought, and damn sharing a bed with them. He flung himself out of bed, ready to stalk off and sleep anywhere else he could find, even if it might only be in a cupboard. He was forestalled by Estonia grabbing up his glasses and beating him to the door by a scant second.

"Shut _up_, Läti," Estonia snapped at Latvia. "You deal with him for once," he said, pushing Lithuania back, and was gone, the room shaking from the force with which he'd slammed the door.

Lithuania found it difficult to maintain his level of self-righteous anger, left only with a sobbing little brother to deal with. "Latvia," he said, turning back. "Go to sleep."

"I want to go home," Latvia sniffled, sitting up and holding a pillow in front of him like a shield. "I just want to go home."

"Shh," Lithuania said, and reluctantly went back and held him till he stopped crying. "Not yet. Soon, though." Latvia tucked his face in against his collarbone, too tired and unhappy to cry any more. Lithuania petted his hair, remembering him as a tiny child, playing as his older brothers worked. "Latvija," he whispered, "it'll be all right. I'll make it all right."

He couldn't make things better for any of them if he was just a kitchen worker, he thought. If he was privy to Russia's work, could ferret out information, though – He sighed, stroking Latvia's hair, feeling him slip towards sleep again, growing heavier in Lithuania's arms. Lithuania pressed a kiss to his forehead and carefully slid him down onto the bed, tucking the blankets snugly around him before carefully getting back in his own side of the bed. Lithuania stared into the darkness, thinking he had to make things better for his brothers. Russia had offered him a job as his secretary; all he had to do was to swallow his pride and ask for it. And hope the position was still open.

 

* * *

 

"But I have got used to the taste of Lithuanian food!" Russia said in wide-eyed innocence. "I'm sure no one else spits in my soup quite so much as you."

"You'd be surprised," Lithuania said before he could stop himself. He winced inwardly, bracing himself for a reprimand, but then the smile on Russia's face turned more genuine, as if for once he'd actually heard something funny.

"I like you," Russia said, and slapped him hard on the shoulder. "You will be a good secretary, I think. You can start with those notes – " he waved towards an imposing pile of papers. "Write them up neatly, and we will see if you can manage this job, yes?"

"Yes," Lithuania said, lifting the papers. He kept his face pleasant and polite, not letting his despair show as he registered just how illegible Russia's handwriting was. This would keep him busy for the rest of the day and up all night.

It did. He hunched over the rickety desk in the room he shared with his brothers, squinting at Russia's notes in the flickering candlelight. A few minutes before five o'clock he collapsed face down on top of the covers, asleep at once. Moments later Estonia was sleepily prodding his side.

"Wake up. Leedu, wake up, time to start the kitchen fires."

"G'way," Lithuania said into his pillow. "'M his secretary, I don't have to get up at five."

"You're his secretary?" Estonia said after a pause. He sat on the bedside, and patted Lithuania's back. "Thank you."

"Ung," Lithuania said, which he vaguely felt was ungracious, but by God he was going to get his hour of sleep. When he was woken again it was the sinfully late hour of six thirty, and Latvia was holding out a chunk of warm bread and a cup of tea so large Lithuania despaired of drinking it all.

"Thank you," he said, tearing into the bread. He swallowed a huge mouthful of the tea and climbed out of bed. He had only one set of clothes that weren't grease stained from the kitchens, and he doubted Russia would like them. Oh well. He set the cup down and dressed quickly in his old uniform, brushing his hair and pulling it back neatly. Another mouthful of the bread, another draught of the tea, and he picked up his transcribed notes. "Wish me luck," he said, and Latvia hugged him.

"Good luck," he whispered and fled.

 

* * *

 

Being Russia's secretary had its perks, Lithuania supposed, the chief of which was he could beg for less onerous work for his brothers. Russia could be generous, when he thought he'd got what he wanted. Latvia looked positively cherubic, once the dirt from the yard work was washed off, and he was dressed as a pageboy. And Estonia began to look a lot less bad-tempered once his skill at numbers was recognised and he was given a position as one of Russia's accountants. It made Lithuania's sleep a lot easier, knowing he was doing what an elder brother should and taking care of them. They also complained less, he thought, feeling disloyal. That was restful, as well. There were drawbacks to his new position, of course, the chief of which was being in Russia's company the entire day. The work was time consuming and tiring, but it was, Lithuania grudgingly admitted, interesting. If he was lucky, he thought, he would in time be trusted enough to read sensitive documents; he let himself imagine finding some information that could help him get free, help him free his brothers. Some day, he thought, some day. Right then, however, he had to deal with being closely managed; having done it all himself for so long, Russia found it hard to give up even the simplest of tasks. He was always at Lithuania's shoulder, explaining things he already knew, asking if his writing was clear enough and laughing when Lithuania lied and said it was. He couldn't be ignored, and the work couldn't be left undone all of which meant longer and longer hours as Lithuania worked into the night, cursing Russia's habit of switching from Russian to French - written half in Cyrillic, half in Latin letters - and back to Russian written in Latin letters. After a few months Lithuania felt as tired as he'd been when his days had been full of hard physical work in the kitchens.

Even during his meals he wasn't free. In the evening he ate with the rest of the staff, trying to be polite and join in their conversations. It wouldn't do to get a reputation for thinking he was better than everyone else. At lunchtime, if there weren't visitors to be entertained, Russia insisted they ate together, chatting loudly and cheerfully and demanding responses as Lithuania tried to both be polite and yet have enough time to actually eat something.

"You are feeling much better now, I think," Russia said one day, pouring them both large glasses of vodka. "Your talents were wasted in the kitchens, yes?"

"I'm not a bad cook," Lithuania said carefully, not wanting to suggest Russia should have chosen a different position for him at first. If he annoyed Russia and lost this job, Estonia would be so angry. Lithuania hid a sigh; he wished they could just have a glass of wine at lunch, or perhaps milk. Russia had an unnerving ability to drink glass after glass of vodka and still, so it seemed, be able to work. Lithuania thought of it as a drink for night time, when work was over. A memory flashed through his mind, Poland leaning forward in the warm candlelight, smiling, bottle in hand to refill the small, _civilised_ glasses they had used for vodka. He met Russia's gaze and found himself being watched. Something had shown on his face, he thought, alarmed.

"No," Russia said, and gave him a few moments' grace by turning to his own lunch. "Not a bad cook at all. Your culinary skills, they were what Poland saw in you?" he said, smiling with cheerful malice over his vodka.

Lithuania chewed his mouthful of fish longer than anyone could believe necessary and kept his face neutral. "Most likely," he said, when he had no excuse not to answer.

"So modest," Russia said. "Your armies, he must have liked moving them round like little toy soldiers. You fought well at the end. A pity he got so bogged down with Prussia and Austria – who knows, perhaps he was waiting for you to suddenly reappear and save the day, like a princess waiting for her knight errant. So unfortunate, that we cannot ask him, yes?"

Lithuania found he was holding his fish knife far too tightly. He put it down carefully. What the hell could he do with it, or any of the other silverware? Russia was outright laughing now.

"Lithuania," Russia said, his grin ear to ear, "Tell me, did our late friend _ever_ take the man's role in bed? Come, tell me, I have money riding on this with Prussia."

"He was my dearest friend," Lithuania said though gritted teeth, when he could be sure he wouldn't simply scream.

Russia fell silent. After a moment he poured Lithuania another glass of vodka. "Forgive me," he said. "It is cruel to mock you like this. You are sad, Lithuania, and that makes me unhappy. I want only for you to be happy here in my house. I provide for you, you must tell me things you like and I'll get them. Here, drink, drink up. We will both cheer up when we get back to work, yes? Work is good for sadness."

Lithuania nodded, and made himself drink. He didn't care about missing the rest of lunch as long as he didn't have to face Russia's sense of humour. He was – well, not _cheered_, but relieved to find that the work did drive the misery away for the rest of the day as he took dictation, Russia pacing back and forth, thinking aloud and laughing when Lithuania read his words back to him.

"A good thing you can tidy up my thoughts, yes? A good thing I am not required to speak without preparation."

Lithuania smiled politely. He'd heard Russia speak spontaneously to good effect. He was far too good at rousing his troops. Lithuania bent his head over his notes again. There was no point thinking about it now. _"I'll take Russia on! I'll be back with you before you know it!"_ He carefully dipped his pen in the ink, trying not to remember how Poland had nodded, trusting him. _"Hey, Liet? When this is, like, over, we'll –"_ He jumped when Russia's heavy hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"Take a break," Russia said looking down at him solemnly. He handed him a handkerchief, gesturing vaguely up to his own eyes, as if embarrassed to have to notice a subordinate's emotions. "We will meet after dinner, yes? Life goes on, Lithuania."

Lithuania looked up blankly, then felt the tears on his face. He patted at his eyes with the handkerchief, and took the chance to leave as fast as was polite. He hurried back to his room, and poured cold water from the jug into the china basin, splashing it up into his face. Even with his face washed and his hair freshly brushed he still looked overly sad, he thought, peering into the small and age-spotted mirror hung above the basin. _Life goes on_, he thought. He didn't want to take advice from Russia, but it was the same advice Estonia had given him. _Do your work_, he thought. _Each day will be easier_. He brushed his hair again, just to have something to do. _I am alone_, he thought. He shoved the thought down and went to eat with the rest of the household. It was good to be out of Russia's sight for even a little; once he was halfway through the main course and passing potatoes to Georgia and Azerbaijan he could even find a little sympathy for Ukraine and Belarus. They had to eat dinner with their brother and pretend they were his guests when they were as much prisoners as everyone else. Of course, that sympathy evaporated fast when Belarus deigned to make an appearance belowstairs after dinner, glared at him with cold irritation and said,

"Russia wants to see you. I can't think why, he says you do nothing all day but drink."

"Belarus –" Ukraine said behind her, and stopped, clearly unwilling to support anyone against her sister or Russia.

Lithuania pulled himself away from the kitchen fire and made his way back upstairs, seething. He smoothed his hands over his hair in the vain hope that he was still presentable. It was bad enough to have more work, but to have to deal with Belarus' unpleasantness in front of everyone – He knocked and opened the office door, but Russia wasn't there. The room was dark and cold, the fire long since died out. Lithuania went back into the corridor, puzzled, and began checking other doors. As he neared the servants' staircase he heard footsteps above and then Russia was looking down at him.

"I'm up here," he said, quite unnecessarily, in Lithuania's opinion.

Lithuania hurried up the stairs and followed him down another corridor and into a warmly lit room. He looked around at the armchairs by the fire, one of them with a soft blanket piled on it, as if the occupant had just stepped out from their cosy nest. Russia fiddled with the lamps, turning the gas up a little so the room brightened.

"I like the light a little dimmer," he said, "but your eyes are already tired, I think."

There were books piled on the table, all novels from what Lithuania could see, and an old samovar dangerously near some loose pages. Russia went to it and made tea, handing a cup to Lithuania then spooning in a generous amount of honey.

"Good for your throat. Drink, drink, don't let it get cold."

Lithuania perched uncomfortably on the edge of one of the armchairs as Russia waved him to sit, and sipped at the tea. It was strong and overly sweet. He tried neither to gaze around him nor to meet Russia's eyes as Russia sank into the other chair, flicking the blanket across his legs. This, Lithuania thought, was Russia's private sitting room, where he didn't need to worry about anything but his own comfort. He wondered how much vodka had made its way into Russia's own cup of tea, and found a terrible desire to giggle.

After some minutes of silence, Russia got up again and replenished both their cups. He came back with a slender, badly printed book that he put gently on the arm of Lithuania's chair.

"You will tell me what you make of this."

Lithuania picked it up, sure of a trap. It would be a seditious work by one of his people. It would be the pretext to send his best thinkers and writers to Siberia. It was –

"It's a collection of poetry," he said.

"Yes," Russia said. He sat back and sipped his tea, his mild smile firmly in place.

Lithuania flipped through the book. "This writer," he said cautiously, "he's one of your people – wasn't he, um –"

"Given four years in internal exile for views that could be interpreted as critical of the royal family's authority," Russia said. He smiled innocently. "You can see why I would prefer not to have the book left out where easily led people might see it. Read it to me. I find some of his images quite lovely."

Lithuania turned to the beginning, took a breath, then laid the book down again. "Do you think this is seditious?"

Russia shrugged. "The imperial censors are very strict, sometimes too strict. In this case – let us say I hope the poor man survives and still feels he can write. It would be a shame to lose his talent, but better safe than sorry."

Lithuania read, Russia bringing him more tea whenever his voice began to rasp and his throat felt dry. His voice stumbled a little over the final words of a poem that described a great tree, fallen from prominence and covered over with common flowers. He looked up hesitantly at Russia, to receive an indulgent smile and a gesture to continue. When at last he finished the final poem he looked up to find Russia standing over him. The book was gently taken from him and returned to the locked desk from where Russia had taken it.

"You have been reading seditious literature," Russia said quietly, coming back to stand over him. "And I have been listening to it. Do not look so scared, Lithuania, I say this only so you know we are in the same situation, yes? I will not harm you, I have always liked you, for so many years now – " He bent over, cupping Lithuania's chin in his hand, and kissed him. Lithuania shrank back, wide-eyed, and found himself pressed back into the chair. "Of course," Russia mused, staring into his face from close range, "it is not quite the same situation, for our words will not be weighed equally. Do not fear, I won't turn you in. Others would, no doubt, but I want only to take care of you." He kissed Lithuania again, then pulled him out of the chair into an embrace. Lithuania concentrated on breathing and not hitting out. God only knew what would happen if he hit Russia. "What's wrong?" Russia asked. "I won't hurt you – come now, Lithuania, it's like you're not even here – "

"It's late," Lithuania said. If he kept his voice steady, he thought, if he could make it seem like he didn't even notice this, maybe he could return the situation to normality. Russia would have had a lot to drink by this time of night, he might not even remember this in the morning. "I'm not feeling well, and we have a lot of work tomorrow, maybe I could leave you in peace, and –"

"Haven't I given you a better job than before? And forgiven your original bad attitude?" Russia said, frowning. "And I've allowed your brothers easier tasks as well. I know you are sad and lonely without your friend – I too can be lonely, Lithuania. You don't think of that, I know, which is selfish. You should be kinder." He smiled, stroking Lithuania's hair. "You are so very good looking." He paused, just the slightest of moments. "So are your brothers."

"Oh," Lithuania whispered. He could hear nothing, not the ticking of the clock, not his own breath. "No. Russia – please, Latvia's just –"

"Latvia," Russia said sternly, "is a child, and under my protection. I am surprised at you. Estonia –" He smiled. "Estonia is a fine looking young man."

Lithuania closed his eyes, thinking of Estonia's fragile, brittle self-composure, his insistence on using his own language even to say his own brothers' names, the careful sense of dignity with which he covered his fear and misery. He opened his eyes and put a shaking hand on Russia's shoulder, stepping into him, turning his face up.

"Better," Russia said, and kissed him again. He watched as Lithuania stepped back, took off his jacket, and began to unbutton his shirt with clumsy fingers. "Come," Russia said, reaching out and taking his hand. "My bedroom is through here." He led Lithuania through a small room, empty save for two large baskets, one of dirty laundry, one stacked with firewood, and into a larger room filled with heavy furniture. The dark woods and thick brocade curtains made it seem smaller than it was. "Tsk," Russia said, going to the fire, "I thought I had banked it better than this – " He spent a few minutes coaxing it back to life and then stretched and began to undress, casually flinging his coat over the back of a chair and pulling off his shirt, leaving his hair tousled. He neatened the scarf still around his neck and smiled sweetly at Lithuania. "Don't be shy."

Lithuania undressed, not quite looking at Russia's face. _Once you are finished here_, he thought, _you can go to your own room. You are the Grand Duchy of Lithuania. You are all that is left of the Commonwealth. You are doing this for the good of others._ He tried not to wince as Russia lifted his chin in one large hand.

"So sad," Russia mused. "It is so clear in your eyes, you think you are a martyr, like a little virgin saint thrown into a whorehouse. _Oh, that monster, so much taller and heavier, he forced me -_ You don't need to be sad, I will be nice to you." He drew Lithuania in and murmured in his ear, "I want you to take the active part, Lithuania. You see, you need not fear me."

"You want – " Lithuania started, "you want _me_ to fuck _you_?"

"If that is how you choose to put it. You are surprised after my comments earlier? It was but a joke, surely you cannot have believed I meant it? I was simply amused at the thought of sharing a preference with Poland, may he rest in peace."

Russia stepped back, finished undressing and took Lithuania's hand, pulling him to the bed. Lithuania was unsure what he had expected to see – Russia wore his clothes loose, but not, it seemed, to disguise flab. He was large-framed and muscular, his pale skin marked here and there by old scars, some of which Lithuania remembered causing. The continued presence of the scarf was at least familiar; in all the centuries they had been neighbours, Lithuania had never seen him without it. It was more difficult once they were in the bed; Russia, it seemed, wanted to be seduced. He lay there, smiling, waiting. Lithuania gingerly kissed him, putting his arms around him. _I can't do this_, he thought, feeling he had never been less aroused. If he could just ignore the fact Russia was so much taller than Poland, he thought desperately, and closed his eyes as he kissed him, trying to convince himself he lay in a different bed, a different embrace. He thought of Poland's face, eyes heavy-lidded in pleasure, smiling at him. _"Oh, Liet, yes – "_ It began to work, which was both a relief and a horrible, creeping shame. He belatedly realised Russia was trying to move his hand for him, and reluctantly reached down to stroke him. As soon as was even vaguely polite, he looked searchingly at the table by the bedside.

"Do you have any, um –"

Russia rolled over and plucked up a bottle from between the stacks of books. More novels, Lithuania saw. Maybe he could interest Russia in a literary discussion instead, he thought, and fought back a sobbing laugh. He tipped some oil out onto his fingers and wondered how best to go about things. Russia sighed at his expression and turned over on his stomach.

"This is easier for you, now?"

Lithuania didn't answer, just used the oil and cast a longing look at the door as Russia tapped his fingers on the mattress. He put a hand on Russia's back and entertained a brief fantasy in which he was thrown out for being boring.

"Lithuania," Russia said in the gentle, polite voice he used for declaring war, "are you lost? Did you and Poland ever actually _do_ anything? Or did you just plait each other's hair for four hundred years?"

Lithuania felt his mouth set in a thin, furious line. _How_ dare_ he?_ he thought. _How dare he compare my real life to this?_ He twisted his hand viciously in the back of the scarf and held Russia down, gasping for breath, while he fulfilled what was to be, it seemed, part of his secretarial duties. Sheer anger carried him through; he didn't bother being careful or considerate, and only relinquished his hold on the scarf when Russia's breathing became too alarmingly wheezy to ignore.

Afterwards he lay looking up at the ceiling, pretending the previous minutes had not happened. _This_, he thought, _is when he'll kill me._ Russia just patted his thigh and sat up, scrubbing his hands across his face. He silently got out of bed and went to the washstand where he stood for a moment, his back to Lithuania and his head bent, before pouring water into the basin, and cleaning himself up. He walked off, vanishing out of the room for a moment and coming back with glasses and a bottle.

"One should not keep the bottle right by one's bed, yes?" he said, his voice a little hoarse. "It takes drinking alone a little too far." He poured two large glasses and handed one over as Lithuania sat up. "You are an angry man, Lithuania. Perhaps next time you will not be so angry, and you may perhaps even not try to hurt me."

"I don't hurt people in bed," Lithuania said, stung.

"No? But you tried, just now, and you did. I must assume that pleases you. I forgive you, I know you are – confused. Do not worry, I will give you another chance at another time." Russia climbed carefully onto the bed, sat back awkwardly against the pillows and downed his vodka in one, pouring himself another glass. "More? Drink like a man, Lithuania, you're as bad as my damn sisters, sipping like a lady."

"I don't hurt people," Lithuania whispered.

Russia looked at him over the rim of the glass, a long, silent gaze. "So now we have both discovered something about you," he said at last. "Drink, for God's sake."

Lithuania swallowed the vodka down, stifling a cough as Russia refilled his glass. He wanted to go home. He wanted to be in Vilnius or Warsaw, and to look across the pillows at hair a different shade of blond. Most of all he wanted the evening not to have happened. He settled for another throat-burning drink and held out the glass again.

"Better," Russia said, refilling it. "You look like shit," he went on, his voice regaining its cheerfulness. "You had better stay here tonight. If you go to your own room you will probably cry like a girl and keep your brothers awake and I'll get no work out of any of you tomorrow. If you are here, you will have too much pride to cry, yes? You may even sleep a little." He watched Lithuania swallow down the vodka, then took the glass away and nodded towards the washstand. "Wash."

Lithuania wearily obeyed. "Do you want me to put out the lights in the sitting room?" he asked, and was surprised at the steadiness of his voice.

"Yes, do. We don't want a draught to blow out the flame and leave us to suffocate from the gas," Russia said.

_Speak for yourself_, Lithuania thought dully, doing as he was told and returning to the bed.

Russia was at least polite enough not to hold him, and he _was_ too proud to cry, and if neither of them slept that night, it was at least dark enough that they could pretend not to notice.

 

* * * * * * * * * *

 

_Notes, historical and Hetalia canonical:_ From the [First Partition of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth in 1772 to the Third Partition in 1795](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Partitions_of_Poland), Poland and Lithuania lost more and more territory to Prussia, Austria and Russia, with the dissolution of the Commonwealth coming in 1795, Lithuania becoming part of the Russian empire and Poland losing all existence as a state, being divided between its three enemies. From the point of view of Hetalia canon, Russia is lying about Poland's demise, as Poland meets Italy before Italian independence and unification, and must therefore be living in Austria's house.


End file.
